


Kiss Me

by Cocohorse



Series: Heavenscoin One-Shots [5]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dinner, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Heavenscoin, Kissing, Silly, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6010236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocohorse/pseuds/Cocohorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"D'you know what day it is?"</p><p>Plutarch invites Coin for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> "I was wondering since tomorrow is Valentine's Day, if perhaps you could write cute fluffy heavenscoin fic :) doesn't have to be anything big, just something really adorable"
> 
> Thank you :) Here is something really short, quick, and messy that I just typed out now that I'm feeling a bit better. ([insp](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/130128556359/its-valentines-day-and-your-otp-is-opening-candy))

"What is this for?" questioned Coin, watching him stoop over her shoulder and lower a glistening plate of steaming rice and seasoned vegetables on to the table mat in front of her.

Plutarch stopped halfway, his hand still holding the warm plate. He turned his head and peered at her with disbelieving eyes. "You're asking me this now? Right when we're about to eat?"

Coin rose her eyebrows slowly at him. "As much as I do love microwaved food, there's got to be a special occasion for this. You're wearing cologne, and your hair is combed. For once."

His mouth gaped open like a beached fish, stunned and offended. "Can't I look nice without everyone complaining?" he asked huffily, setting the plate down. It clanked a little loudly. He continued, saying, "And of course it's a 'special occasion,' if you want to put it that way." He withdrew and placed an identical plate of food on his side of their table.

"You do look nice," she flatly conceded, skin prickling. He was handsome and awfully generous. She eyed him, thinking silently to herself. "Is it your birthday or something?" she asked out loud.

"If you actually knew my birthday, you would know," grumbled Plutarch. He pulled out the plastic white chair from the table and sat down, shooting her a quick, amused smile. "D'you know what day it is?" he asked her as he unraveled his napkin and spread it across his lip. His blue eyes sparkled in the dim, flickering light of the fake candle in the center of their table.

Her shoulders fell in irritation. "I just asked you what day it is."

"Guess," he teased, pointing at her with a raised fork.

"It's Sunday," she grudgingly said, forcing herself to go along.

"I can't believe this. Come on."

Her eyes narrowed. She was tempted to get up and leave. "It's the fourteenth."

"Of?"

What a funny, infuriating man. She gritted her teeth, burning with frustration. "Of February."

Plutarch couldn't help himself, and he leaped forward with a bright beam on his face. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he exclaimed, grinning eagerly.

Why did he always have to do this to her? Coin slumped into her seat, pressing against the back of the chair. "Oh, Christ," she groaned, folding her arms together.

Plutarch laughed and raised a glass of red wine to her. "Don't tell me you don't know what it is. I didn't think you've lived in this cave forever." He took a steady sip, his amused eyes studying her over the rim of the glass.

She hated the gamemaker. Just because he was from the Capitol didn't make him someone noteworthy at all. "Of course I know what it is!" she retorted defensively.

He set his glass of wine back down and picked up a spoonful of rice, smiling jovially behind it. "Haven't you seen Effie and Johanna and Finnick and the rest of 'em acting funny today?" he mused, raising his eyebrows as he gulped down his food. The victors and other young people had been exchanging cards and eating candy. He was surprised that Coin didn't notice.

She stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork, muttering under her breath, "Don't they always?"

Plutarch chuckled down at his plate as he resumed eating. But he quickly looked back up when he suddenly heard violent coughing. Coin had stuck the broccoli in her mouth and was struggling to choke it down.

"God! Are you okay?" He nearly jumped out of his seat with shock and worry.

Did she look okay? "What seasoning did you put - on - this?" she wheezed angrily, throwing down her fork and grabbing her glass of wine on the table. She swallowed down huge gulps at a time, straining to rinse down her mouth and throat.

Plutarch looked frenzied and frightened, but he was frozen in his seat as he watched her. "Um, salt, pepper, lemon juice, garlic -" he started.

Coin slammed the glass down on the table. It shook. "Garlic? Garlic, dammit, Plutarch. I'm allergic to garlic!"

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he quickly cried, chagrined like a dog with its tail between its legs. “Should I call the doctor? Oh, god -”

She covered and wiped her mouth with her napkin, glaring at him and shaking her head. "I'm fine, this is fine," she assured between ragged breaths, dragging her chair closer up to the table. He was staring at her, looking stung. “It was a little bit. It's not that serious.”

Plutarch looked guiltily from across the table, carefully trying to approach her. "You okay?" he repeated quietly, disheartened. "Sorry, you don't - we don't have to eat if you're not."

Even though eating a decent warm meal was enticing, Coin didn't want to create another scene. “That’s probably a good idea," she dryly acknowledged, taking another long drink from her wine glass. She then set it back down and muttered, “I feel like you're trying to kill me and get me drunk.” She shot him a pointed look and rolled her eyes. He was always a jokester, but sometimes he took whatever she said too seriously. “Kidding. Ugh. Do you have anything else to eat?”

He gently set his fork and napkin back on the table. He seemed earnest to provide her with anything. “Katniss gave me the candy that she didn't want," he tried.

Coin was about to argue, but she didn't have any other choice. “Okay,” was all she said, and she drew her chair out and stood up. She went over to and sat down on the couch, resting her head back and catching her breath.

He followed after her, fishing out a small pink box from his pocket. He sat down on the cushion beside her, and she watched as he tore open the box. “They're little heart-shaped candies,” he told her, feeling her hand rest tiredly against his arm.

“That's ridiculous,” she said.

“They're not that bad.” He shook the box over his open palm, spilling out a few hearts into his hand. He held them out for her to look and said, “See? They have writing on them.” He grinned and picked one up, placing it on his pink tongue. He reminded her of Finnick, except he was nothing like Finnick.

She squinted her eyes at him. “ _Kiss Me_ ,” the candy read, and she scrunched her face up in disgust. What a child. Her face grew warm with embarrassment, though. “Not if you just ate garlic,” she told him, using any excuse to separate herself from him. She knew he didn't, though, and only had rice.

He was ready to pout in protest. “Dun’t ‘eave ‘e hangin’.”

She sighed in exasperation. How many times had she sighed before kissing him? She met him with her lips, mumbling, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”


End file.
